Mr B and I are watching Broadchurch on TV.
We recorded it because we virtually never watch anything in "real" time. The unfortunate consequence of this is that when, at
the end of the pre-recorded programme we have been watching, an invisible person tells us to watch out for the exciting programme to follow, well, it's too late for us. It's "been and gorn" as a Charles Dickens' character whose name I have forgotten, would
According to the newspapers, viewers are leaving Broadchurch in their thousands. Mr B and I continue watching because we are loyal types. This is A Good Thing when it comes to marriage, family
relationships and friendship, but not so good when it comes to car insurance, the bank in your wardrobe (a TV advert slogan of long ago for those of a lesser age than we two) or mobile phone companies. We are starting to get a bit cuter, thanks to the advice
of Our Boy and other savvy family members, but we still Have A Lot To Learn.
Anyway, so far we have stayed loyal to Broadchurch, despite agreeing with each other that (i) the second series is not as good as
the first; and (ii) that it might be For The Best if the television company concerned doesn't embark upon series 3.
Please don't worry if you have already turned off from Broadchurch, or if you have never,
ever watched it. What follows can be read in its own right (or write?) No detailed, or even slender, knowledge of the TV drama is required. Total ignorance of All Things Broadchurch may even be preferable.
was this scene where the two legal teams were separately considering and assessing the different members of the jury - who appeared sympathetic, who was clearly restless when the defence lawyer was on her feet. Neither Mr B nor I have ever been called to serve
on a jury, despite our Great Age. We can't make up our minds whether to be eternally grateful or a trifle miffed at being overlooked.
It occurs to me that both Prosecution and Defence might have a problem
determining where Mr B, as a juror, stood on the issue of guilt or innocence. He does, you see, have a habit of nodding off if the proceedings get, shall we say, boring? The analysts studying the jury's reactions would have to work out how many minutes of
the prosecution's case he snoozed through and how many minutes of the defence case. This might, of course, be a good indication of the guilt or innocence of the accused but, let's face it, it wouldn't stand up in court.
Last year we went to see "Twelve Angry Men" on stage. Plus we have both read John Grisham's "The Runaway Jury". What's more, the Middle of the Darling Daughters has served on a jury and found it an interesting experience. Put together, do these three
factors serve to make us experts on the jury system?
Because this is what might be termed an Imponderable Question, we decide to change direction and head into the kitchen to cook pancakes, it being Shrove
Tuesday aka Pancake Day. I mix the flour, eggs and milk while Mr B heats up the frying pan. This is called "team work". We don't toss. Secretly I think this is missing out on the whole essence of Pancake Day but in Mr B's mind, it's all about what ends up
on the plate. It matters not whether the pancake has been tossed or simply flipped from one side to the other. Indeed, as far as what ends up on the plate, flipping is vastly superior to tossing (according to Mr B) and who am I to argue, bearing in mind that
generally when I toss a pancake it ends up in a mangled mess in the pan, on the plate or even, in the most desperate of circumstances, on the floor.
It is true that, had we still had Small People around, we
would doubtless have tossed, rather than flipped. It's all about theatre, don't you agree? But given that it's just Mr B and me, there's really not much to choose between flipping and tossing. It's nowhere as serious as innocence and guilt, for example.
Our pancakes were delicious, thank you very much.
That is, indeed, our Unanimous Verdict.